I almost forgot the night I offered my cock to two big women in a Camaro, feather joint clips, Jordache and feathered hair. I put it in the window, wheelied my Huffy against their back bumper.

One wrestled me down, sucked me off in the smell of baby powder, hum of neon, traffic circle horns, the 7-11 parking lot. I slept awhile beside that road, smelling my fingers, thinking of those big big bodies, so much flesh against the backseats.

My thighs filled with skin, and jabbed the seats before I could come.[1]

______________________________
[1] Bonus Bottom Strophe

I wanna go back to Montreaux, lines of coke on the amps. I wanna lay down with a lopped-off microphone across flight cases, the stenciled winds of Lake Geneva—just an A and a D chord at sundown, and the sound of my own voice, over and over again.